Page 1 of Shadow Angel
PROLOGUE
FRIDAY
Icy fingers of dread walked along the vertebrae of Cassie Burnham’s spine under the forbidding stare of the man leaning against the bar. He’d been glaring at her with unnerving intensity each time she took the stage in the Fuzzy Peach bar at the Outlaws Saloon. Not the lustful look most patrons gave her, his contempt for her radiated across the room. Dancing and acting provocative was proving difficult under his judgmental gaze. It happened every night. The moment the music started and she wrapped herself around the glistening silver pole, he emerged from the shadows, eyes narrowed in menace.
Relieved when the final strains of her music ended for her last appearance of the night, Cassie left the stage and slapped away the hands reaching out to touch her. Most of them were miners who flocked to town on weekends, cashed up and ready to party, and apart from booze and gambling, they had nowhere else to spend their pay. Many in the audience ignored the no-touch policy, and the bouncers were too slow or lazy to cross the floor to the stage to protect the dancers. Seeing those leering faces made her skin crawl and she hated her life. Being a stripper in a mining town in the middle of nowhere had become the end of the road for Cassie. Sure, the hourly rate was good and she got to keep her tips, but it was a dead-end job.
Exhausted after hours onstage, Cassie gathered up her costume and an itchy trickle of sweat ran between her shoulder blades. She wanted to be far away from this place and searched for her discarded clothes. After wrestling a bra from one of the men in the crowd and ignoring the grabbing hands, she headed toward the dressing rooms. Outside was below zero but inside the saloon heat rose in clouds of unwashed male and stale beer. She nodded to the next dancer heading for the stage and walked along the passageway and into the dressing room, leaving the loud music, cheers, and suggestive remarks behind her. As she entered the crowded room, a wall of cheap perfume hit her, mixed with the stench of sweat and smelly feet. Women moved around, packed together like sardines, dressing or sitting in front of mirrors touching up their makeup. Stripping was the only gig in town that paid the big bucks, and she would cash in before she got too old, because the next stop would be a bartender or working at the local gas station. Saturday night was always busy, but thankfully, her shift was over. She pushed her sweaty costumes into her backpack, added her makeup bag and long blonde wig, and then made her way to the showers. It was good to wash the sparkling makeup from her body and remove the touch of the men forcing bills down her underwear. She’d set her mind on buying a new pair of boots for the winter and with tonight’s tips she’d have more than enough money. The happy thought brightened her mood and she hummed as she dried her long hair.
Ten minutes later, she opened the stage door and looked both ways. It wouldn’t be the first time an amorous drunken miner had tried to force himself on her, but the dark alleyway appeared deserted. As she stepped out of the back door it clanged shut behind her and an icy chill blasted her, seeping through the seams of her clothes and sending shivers across her heated flesh. She longed to take a deep breath of cool mountain air, but the alleyway was lined with overflowing dumpsters. Only a single light illuminated the dancers’ exit from the building and anything could be hiding in the alleyway. Cats, rats, or bears frequented the area hunting for food.
Fear gripped her as shadows moved and she paused, scanning the way ahead before stepping into the darkness. Watching the deep shadows, she maneuvered carefully through the garbage, trying not to breathe in the stink of stale Chinese takeout and cat pee. At the end of the alleyway, a single streetlight cast an orange glow like a beacon of safety and she headed toward it. The dancers always left their vehicles parked on Quartz, a narrow road that ran behind a number of industrial buildings. As she headed toward the light, she blew out a deep sigh. This area of town could be anywhere in the country. It was hard to believe the Outlaws Saloon was in the outlying areas of the beautiful Rattlesnake Creek. The picturesque center of town seemed to exist in a world of its own. It was as if time had stopped. The main street of Rattlesnake Creek resembled a town in the Old West with most of the buildings constructed decades ago from wood or rock hewn out of the mountains by the miners.
In her periphery, the shadows moved and the shape of a large figure fell across the alleyway. Heart pounding, she slipped one hand inside her purse for the can of bear spray. Man or bear, it would slow him down some and give her time to escape. Unsure if she should move forward or go back, she turned and looked over one shoulder. The dark alleyway loomed behind her frighteningly still, even the cats had deserted it. Ahead, long shadows reached out like witches’ fingers, their long nails threatening to tear her apart. She stared into the darkness for long seconds, trying to rationalize her fear. She’d walked along this alleyway one hundred times before and each time something spooked her. Gathering her courage, and taking a strong grip on the bear spray, she walked into the shadows. As she reached the end of the alleyway, she increased her pace and burst out into the light.
Pain slammed into the side of her head and she staggered, falling to her knees. The gritty sidewalk cut deep into her flesh as bright starbursts erupted in her eyes and the metallic taste of blood coated her tongue. What had happened? No one was there. The only sound was the muffledthump, thump, thumpfrom the club. She tried to turn her head to look around but moving it hurt so bad. Her mouth refused to open, and only mewing sounds came from between her lips. She’d dropped the can of bear spray and she watched helplessly as it spun on the ground before rolling away into the gutter. On hands and knees, she crawled along the sidewalk trying to get away. Seconds later, denim-clad legs and dark brown work boots came into view. Dizzy and confused, Cassie turned her head to look at her attacker when agony clanged through her temples and the sidewalk blurred. Flat on the bitterly cold ground, she couldn’t move. Was she dying?
Strong hands lifted her under the arms and her face slid over plastic. It dragged against her skin in a strange burning sensation. The man grunted behind her and as her knees smashed against metal, only a whimper escaped her lips. He said nothing as he ripped back her arms and brutally applied zip ties. Gaffer tape was wrapped around her head, sealing her mouth. She couldn’t breathe. Terror gripped her as doors slammed shut and an engine started. Face down and unable to move, she slid around on the plastic coating the floor as the vehicle accelerated around corners at high speed. Nausea gripped her as the truck swayed and bumped, tossing her around until it finally stopped. The door slid open, washing her with freezing night air. She moved her eyes as moonlight outlined the man. She could hear his heavy breathing and smell his rancid sweat. Unable to feel her arms or legs, she could only grunt as he rolled her onto her back. She flopped over and gazed into his shadowed features. Terrified and unable to fight, she stared at him.
A low chuckle broke the silence as the sharp blade of the knife in his hand reflected in the moonlight.
“Oh, don’t look so worried, little lady. We have all night and then some.”
ONE
MONDAY
Eagle’s Nest Forest was wearing its fall dress in a multitude of golds, browns, and greens as Special Agent Beth Katz walked onto the stoop of the cabin alongside Rattlesnake Creek. It had been one of the five cabins she’d considered buying over the past few weeks as a place for her to use as a retreat. She needed a place away from the office as her home base. After witnessing a brutal murder some months previously, she’d taken the obligatory psych test, and failed. The FBI director had forced her to take time away from the big city and reassigned her to Rattlesnake Creek. In truth, being a wolf in sheep’s clothing she’d come too close to becoming the prime suspect in a murder case. Anxious to seek revenge on a serial killer who delighted in raping and killing young girls, she’d allowed her guard to slip a little. Dispatching a monster from one of her cases wasn’t her usual MO, but catching the killer in the act, she’d allowed her own dark side to take control. It had taken split-second timing to shift the blame onto the mythical Tarot Killer by leaving a tarot card floating in the murderer’s blood.
As a master of disguise and skilled in many types of self-defense, the daughter of a serial killer had become the notorious Tarot Killer—the mythical killer of monsters, who’d never left a trace behind, was also an FBI agent. She worked close to investigations, moved invisibly through the dark web as if it was her home, and hunted down unstoppable killers.
She’d left DC almost three months ago to work with Senior Special Agent Dax Styles in a sprawling mining town that time had left behind. The majority of buildings were from the original settlers way back in the 1800s, although new builds were mixed in to accommodate the growing population of miners. Lucrative mines surrounded the area and included the outlying towns of Rainbow, Serenity, and Spring Grove. Although Rattlesnake Creek appeared from the outside to be isolated, the opposite was true. The mines produced a steady flow of workers and the town had a regular bus service. She’d recently discovered the railroad ran scenic tours alongside the mountains and stopped twice daily.
As the Rattlesnake Creek FBI field office serviced many of the outlying small towns, cases requiring their expertise were few and far between, which usually meant that they assisted the local sheriff, Cash Ryder, in any local incidents. Most times it was on weekends, when the miners came into town causing a ruckus. They usually headed for the local saloons to spend their pay and clashed with workers from other mines. This meant that she would take a few days during the week in lieu of the weekend she spent on the job. This worked well for Beth because she could slip away if necessary and, disguised as the Tarot Killer, could keep her dark side happy. The cabin would make this easier, as would her new silver GMC truck, chosen because of the multitude of the same brand and color in the area. Under the guise of fixing up the old cabin and searching across the country for furniture and other items to make it comfortable, she could slip unnoticed into towns all over Montana. Once the cabin was complete, she’d take up art and, if she needed to go missing for a time, use the excuse of painting the scenery in the area.
The cabin door creaked as she opened it but inside was a pleasant surprise. The real estate agent had mentioned this cabin was owned by a miner who’d raised a family here and then retired. He’d followed his kids to live in Helena six months previously. The log cabin, like many used for fishing or hunting sleepovers, had rough logs notched together. The roof, she’d been told, had recently been replaced with asphalt shingles. The front door led straight into the family room. It had a separate kitchen and three bedrooms. The bathroom was serviceable and water came from a pump connected directly to the crisp clean mountain-fed river. The kitchen sink had a water purifier that had just been fitted, so she wouldn’t need to boil her drinking water. It had a generator, but to her surprise, she discovered one side of the roof had solar panels leading to a storage battery. She turned around in the family room. The place had a good feel to it and it had the added bonus of a shed with a sturdy lock and a meat locker. She smiled and pulled out her phone, glad to see she had five bars, and called the real estate agent. “Mr. Brine. It’s Beth Katz. The cabin with the asphalt shingles, I’d like to make an offer.” She listened to the man. “Yes, I’ll be by in twenty minutes.” She disconnected and took one last look before closing and locking the door. “Now all I need is furniture.” She grinned. She’d created the perfect alibi for any time she needed to be away.
Her apartment was in the FBI building. It was self-contained but the high security meant being under surveillance twenty-four hours a day. It was nice enough, with a gym and the office an elevator ride away, but she shared the building with Dax Styles, or “Styles” as he preferred to be called. The tough ex-Army MP had his own set of rules and they seemed to work. He’d been through a messy marriage breakup, so was distant at times, but for some weird reason she liked him and his dog, Bear. He had her back and she could trust him on the job, but she doubted he’d understand her double life. In truth, she’d need to be on her guard. Dax Styles was as sharp as a knife. One slip and he’d see right through her.
TWO
Senior Special Agent Dax Styles checked the contents of his truck. He’d packed his fishing gear, sleeping bag, a few supplies, and a bag of dog food. As he headed for the open door, his phone chimed. It was Cash Ryder, the local sheriff. “Morning, Cash. What can I do for you?”
“It might be nothing. It might be something, but it’s not anything I can handle alone.”Ryder blew out a breath.“A woman by the name of Cassie Burnham has gone missing. No one has seen a trace of her since she left Outlaws at around ten on Friday night. She’s one of the strippers.”
Sliding in behind the wheel of his truck, Styles leaned back in his seat. “Who called it in?”
“One of the other strippers, Rosie Donohue. She found Cassie’s purse and a can of bear spray on Quartz when she left later that evening and figured she dropped it. Apparently, most of them have a ton of things to carry back to their vehicles after their shifts. She said they often find bits and pieces of clothing on the sidewalk belonging to one of them or the other.” Ryder cleared his throat.“Rosie has kids, and it slipped her mind until Sunday. She called Cassie and left a message but hasn’t heard from her. She dropped by her place this morning to see her, and her neighbor said she hasn’t been home, all weekend. I asked Rosie if Cassie entertained any of the customers, and she was adamant that Cassie wouldn’t give a miner the time of day.”
Frowning, Styles drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Did Rosie put in a missing person report?”
“Yeah, mainly because she knows that Cassie hasn’t got any family here. She doesn’t have a boyfriend and doesn’t socialize with anyone outside a few of the girls from Outlaws. Rosie said she’d called her friends, but nobody’s heard from her. I’m at a loss to know what to do next.”
As Ryder’s expertise extended to local brawls, traffic violations, and robbery, he often looked to Styles for assistance. Although during a recent spate of murders covering three counties he had been surprised with Ryder’s professionalism under crisis. “Did you collect the purse and bear spray and check them for prints?”
“Yeah, two sets of prints. One set is Rosie’s, so I’m assuming the other is Cassie’s.”Ryder’s chair squeaked as it rolled around behind his desk.“What now?”
Styles sighed. “What’s her address? I’ll meet you there and we’ll do a welfare check.” He thought for a beat. “Are her keys in her purse?”
